


For It Is Not Mercy I Seek

by bloodsongs, orphan_account



Series: The Pub Between The Worlds [2]
Category: Merlin (TV), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-22
Updated: 2012-08-22
Packaged: 2017-11-12 16:17:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/493197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodsongs/pseuds/bloodsongs, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Emrys,” Loki says, quiet, voice ringing with the sureness of one used to command, of letting one’s tones fall just so that people lapse into silence to hear him, mesmerised. Merlin looks up. “Mingling with the common folk, are you?”</p><p>Merlin nearly barks out a laugh, surprised. “I don’t know if you’ve heard,” he begins, thinking of Camelot, thinking of Arthur, thinking of his banishment. “I am the commonest of common folk with any definition of that in any world, during any time.” He fingers his neckerchief subconsciously, twiddling the old, oft-mended fabric between his fingers.</p><p>Red, he thinks sadly. Faded Camelot red. Just like the blood Arthur had drawn when Merlin had unthinkingly lashed out with magic to save him from a traitorous knight, the pain and betrayal sudden and unexpected as it splashed against his tunic, slashing across his arm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For It Is Not Mercy I Seek

**Author's Note:**

  * For [soraishida](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soraishida/gifts).



> For Kate, who started [this exchange](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m8g2tgFUQq1qalbv7o1_500.png) we had on Facebook. She is such an enabler it's not even funny.

The power calls to him, alien but tempting.

Merlin's skin prickles as he determinedly ignores the man walking over to him, prowling across the floor, feline and dark. 

He knows it, feels it, and has heard of it. People speak of Loki often, in the pub. There are those from Asgard who frequent it, conquerors and fighters. There are those of Jötunheim who speak of their prince, believed to be long dead, who betrayed his own kin to grovel at the feet of the Aesir. And then there are the Avengers from a time and world so unlike Merlin's own, years into the future, who speak of Loki's unfettered ambition and his wild, damaged ways; there's Thor, his not-brother, whom Merlin talks to sometimes, lips pursed when Loki comes up in conversation, resigned and unhappy.

Why would Loki seek him out now?

"Emrys," Loki says, quiet, voice ringing with the sureness of one used to command, of letting one's tones fall just so that people lapse into silence to hear him, mesmerised. Merlin looks up. "Mingling with the common folk, are you?"

Merlin nearly barks out a laugh, surprised. "I don't know if you've heard," he begins, thinking of Camelot, thinking of Arthur, thinking of his banishment. “I am the commonest of common folk with any definition of that in any world, during any time.” He fingers his neckerchief subconsciously, twiddling the old, oft-mended fabric between his fingers.

Red, he thinks sadly. Faded Camelot red. Just like the blood Arthur had drawn when Merlin had unthinkingly lashed out with magic to save him from a traitorous knight, the pain and betrayal sudden and unexpected as it splashed against his tunic, slashing across his arm.

The scar burns, sometimes. It burns even more strongly when Merlin falls into that soft space between night's fragile dreams and his mornings and tries not to remember how Arthur used to press his lips down, down his arm, telling Merlin without words how much he needed him by his side.

No longer.

"I've heard a lot of things."

And so Merlin's humiliation and shame is on display for everyone to see and laugh at. He's not in the mood to be cowed or ashamed; not today, and his magic simmers like his slowly building anger. Anger at everything, and everyone; at Arthur, at Mordred, at Morgana, at himself. That burns, too. "Everybody knows now, I see," he says casually, affecting nonchalance. "Some might say that pride comes before a fall, but I didn't have very much of anything to begin with."

"Camelot's loss. Arthur Pendragon's loss." Loki's moving closer towards him now, leaning casually against the table, shifting into Merlin's personal space.

Merlin's warier than ever, tightening his hold around his goblet of wine, the liquid splashing lightly against the sides and running down his fingers like tears. "Why are you here?"

"Why are you so loyal to your king, warlock?" Loki purrs back. He's a little taller than Merlin, and it's very different from what he's used to with Arthur, this closeness to another like himself. The magic pulses off Loki in waves, and it's intoxicating; dark, deep, and dangerous.

"Arthur," Merlin begins, swallowing, as Loki leans in closer. "He's my destiny, and my friend. I will see him to greatness."

"He banished you."  
  
"Yes." Having someone say it aloud stings, draws a knife down the line of his heart so sweetly and excruciatingly in a way he's never imagined it would. No one's talked about this with him; Merlin's not seen someone in Camelot since he left, since he escaped on dragonback, face flushed with hurt and shock while Arthur roared for him to leave and never come back, and that he would kill him if he ever set foot in Camelot again. He's not seen anyone in the pub from Camelot when he frequents it, preferring to spend his time quietly in the village he'd settled in on the outskirts of Cenred's kingdom, away from Ealdor, away from Camelot, away from anything and everything he's ever known and loved. "Even so, I... I have to. I want to."

He needs me, Merlin doesn't say. But he loathes me now. He has his queen, he has his kingdom; Arthur is king, and he doesn't need a sorcerer who betrayed him, who loved him, who saved his life so many times it makes Merlin's head spin.

Loki tuts, pulling away, almost as if he's reading the emotions warring on Merlin's face. "He doesn't deserve someone of your calibre, Emrys. You should serve another, someone who respects your magic. Another seidrmadr, another sorcerer." His eyes are very green, stark against the pale beauty of his face. No wonder people call Loki of Asgard a god, Merlin thinks, a kind of hushed wonder falling about him as he regards Loki. No wonder people get to their knees so willingly for this fallen god, so wrecked and beautiful in his chaos.

"Serve me, Merlin," Loki murmurs, so close that his breath ghosts across Merlin's lips. Merlin shudders despite himself. "Serve me, and know greatness. Arthur Pendragon will never value you the way I will, he will never see the magnificence you will become."

 


End file.
